


Finding Fault

by BeccaS8864



Series: Prompt Inspired Mayhem [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 21:16:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11134860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeccaS8864/pseuds/BeccaS8864
Summary: What if Cullen decided Cassandra was wrong in saying that a replacement wasn't needed? What if Evelyn Trevelyan couldn't change his mind? What if he actually left?Based on the Tumblr prompt:"Have you heard from him since he left?""No. Not at all.""This wasn't your fault, you know. I promise""It sure feels like it."





	Finding Fault

        After Cassandra left the armory, Evelyn stood in front of the forge for a long moment. Absently watching as the flames danced ominously inside the hearth, her passive appearance gave no indication of the storm raging within her mind. 

        Cullen had asked Cassandra to supply Evelyn with a recommendation for his replacement and when Evelyn had asked her if there was any way to change his mind, Cassandra had assured her, “if anyone can, it’s you.”

         Questions of what to say to him, how to say it, and all the potential outcomes devoured the assurance she had become accustomed to feeling since accepting the role of Inquisitor by unanimous vote from her peers within the Inquisition. Doubt was creeping in. 

         Could she actually convince him to stay? Even though they had just started a romantic relationship a few months ago after months of dancing around each other, personal relationships had no business in a work-related decision but, as the Inquisitor, could she possibly convince him to change his mind?

         Evelyn let out a gust of air in an upwards direction, blowing her bangs out of her eyes, she turned from the furnace of the armory and made her way through the door that was still open from her entrance. It was the same door Cullen had departed through directly after her arrival. 

         On her way up the stairs that lead to the battlements outside Skyhold’s tavern, The Herald’s Rest, she replayed the interaction that had taken place in the armory a few moments ago. She had gone to visit Cullen in his office, to what purpose, she could no longer remember. A messenger was there and had told her he had sought out Cassandra. 

         When she had rounded the corner of the tavern after descending the same stairs she was currently climbing, she could see that Cassandra was not in her usual location but the unmistakable sounds of her and Cullen’s raised voices. Even though the voices were audible, the discussion was still muffled behind heavy wooden doors that were well-fitted to prevent the constant sounds of hammer hitting metal on anvil from disrupting the goings on of the rest of the fortress. 

         When she walked in, Cullen had been in mid-sentence about saving face or admitting what she later learned was somewhat of a problem regarding his battle with lyrium addiction. When he had left the armory, all he had said to her was, “forgive me,” but he couldn’t even bring himself to look her in the eyes. 

        Her heart palpitated momentarily until she reached Cassandra. She then explained what Cullen’s request was and why she didn’t think it was a necessity that a replacement be sought. Now, it all came down to her and her lackluster ability to negotiate. 

         At some point while lost in her recollections, she had made her way through the empty tower at the top of the staircase outside the tavern and had come to a stop outside Cullen’s office door. With one more deep breath in, she pushed the door open. 

        She hadn’t even caught sight of Cullen before she was forced to duck out of the way as a small box hurtled through the air, shattering on the frame of the door in the exact place her head had been before she dipped out of the way. 

        Taking a brief instant to assess the area, she actually sent up a silent thanks to the Maker that she had been fighting constantly for the last nine months or so. If she hadn’t been, that projectile likely would have been the end of her. 

         “Maker’s Breath. I didn’t hear you enter. Forgive me,” he muttered, shaking his head as he spoke. 

         Attempting to lighten the mood, if only a little, Evelyn summoned up her best joking tone that she could muster under such dire circumstances. “Well, as long as you weren’t aiming for me, I am sure the box had it coming,” she teased to no avail. He simply wasn’t having it. 

         “I swear I didn’t hear you enter,” Cullen pleaded with hints of pain, irritation, or both lancing through his placating words. 

         “Cullen, if you need to talk,” she offered, albeit hesitantly, given his currently unreadable disposition. She left the subtle supplication for him to do so hang in the air as he raised a hand to stop her.

         “Evelyn, you don’t have to—” he began. Before he could finish the sentence, though, he gripped at his ribs and grunted with the pain of what looked to be some sort of muscle cramp or spasm. But with all that armor and his fur mantle covering him, it was impossible to tell for sure.

         “When we last spoke, everything was under control. What’s going on, Cullen? Talk to me.” Feeling her skin start to tingle with the unease of the situation, she chanced inching closer to where he stood at the far back corner of his massive desk. 

         Field reports, requisition reports, troop movements, maps, and various military strategy books stood in small towers in front of where his chair should have been. The missing chair, she noted, was on its side and up against the wall. 

         Beginning to meet her in front of his desk, he tried to push it off. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll–” Another crippling pain ripped through him, cutting off his thought and drawing a distressed sounding groan from him as he gripped the side of the desk for support. “I never meant for this to interfere,” he added when the worst of the pain had subsided.

         “I believe you, Cullen,” Evelyn said as she reached closed some of the distance and reached out toward his right arm. It was the closest part of him but was still well out of reach.

         At her statement, he stood abruptly, completely erect with his shoulders back, looking every bit the part of a steadfast Commander. She jumped back slightly as his response made her instantly regret what she had said. She was thankful to note that he hadn’t seemed to notice the slight shift in her proximity to him.

         It looked as though a perfect storm was brewing within him, slowly gathering energy and turbulence. Their continuing conversation seemed to be the clashing air that facilitated the surge of the tempest she could see writhing behind his eyes. 

         “Don’t you get it? The promises I made mean nothing if I can’t keep them,” he raged at her, louder than she assumed he meant to due to the pain he was obviously still in if the creases in his brow were any indicator as to how he was feeling. 

         “I’ll admit, Cullen, you are worrying me a bit. Are you going to be alright?” A subconscious nagging warned her to stay out of arm’s reach, even though she knew he would never attack or otherwise hurt her. It was a residual reaction from the same months in active combat that had spared her from a lyrium kit to the skull moments prior. 

         “Yes,” he said with an impressive amount of surety that lasted only that brief second. The tension in his shoulders softened and he slouched a degree- almost imperceptibly. “Maybe,” he added before deflating fully, going from looking like a walking fortress to fallible human in just two blinks of an eye. “I don’t know,” he confessed quietly. 

         Evelyn’s heart shattered for him in that moment. He gave everything he had all day, every day to the Inquisition, sometimes forgetting to take care of himself due to the level of attention he paid to every small detail. The Inquisition meant more to him than it did most others, regardless of whether or not the whole of Thedas was riding on the shoulders of the Inquisition. 

         She placed her hands on her hips as he launched himself into a monologue about his time in the Templars. Several months prior, back before the fall of Haven, she had asked him what happened at Kinloch Hold and he had shrugged her off by saying that, “no one who served at that time had fond memories of it,” and that he would rather talk of something else. 

         She listened intently as he spoke passionately but scornfully of Uldred, the blood mage takeover of the circle, the slaughter of his fellow templars, and his torture before compounding on it with the events within The Gallows in Kirkwall that led to his Knight-Commander coming totally unhinged. 

         As he finished his explanation of why he wanted to leave the order and why, specifically, he decided to quit lyrium when he took his position with the Inquisition, she dropped her hands. Her right hand landed softly on the edge of his desk as she leaned against it with her hip. “Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life,” he asked emphatically.

         “Of course I can, Cullen. I—” He cut her off before she could finish her agreement with his decision. 

         “Don’t. You should be questioning what I’ve done. I thought it would be better by now. I thought I would gain some sort of control over my life but these thoughts won’t leave me,” he yelled through his frustration as he began to pace the floor between his desk and his bookshelf.

         “I swore myself to this cause. How many lives depend on our success? I promised that I would not give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry. I should be taking it,” he continued with his voice still elevated even louder than he had spoken to Cassandra earlier. 

         He stopped pacing just in front of the bookshelf and gave one of the middle shelves a quick and precise jab with his fist that caused several books to dislodge, cascading to the ground in a flurry of wind-whipped pages and soft thumps of the leather bindings hitting the stone floor.

         He leaned against the bookshelf before sliding down into a sitting position. One knee stayed up in front of his chest, but the other folded under him with a grace that was surprising to her given the amount of armor he wore.  “I should be taking it,” he repeated, so softly it was almost a whisper. 

         Evelyn took the opportunity awarded by his anger exhausting into a shadowed somberness to approach him. Sinking down to sit at his feet, asked, “Is that what you want?”

         When he looked up at her, the utter dejection in his eyes caused her entire chest to clench around itself. Her lungs refused to expand and she could have sworn her heart stopped momentarily. The sadness in his eyes was matched by his nearly-broken voice when he muttered, “It’s what the Inquisition deserves, Inquisitor.”

         Her apprehensions melted away with the obvious dissipation of any residual rage. The fierceness she had seen in his face having long gone, she went out and put her hand on the pauldron resting on his shoulder. “That wasn’t what I asked, Cullen,” she said, ignoring the formality in his use of her title instead of her name. 

         “The Inquisition can hang for two minutes so forget the Inquisition. I want to know what _you_ want not what you think the Inquisition needs or wants.” She chanced a smile to no avail so she pressed on, “Do you want to take it?”

         He deflated even further under her hand resting on his upper arm just under his shoulder and the weight of her eyes on his. It was a feat she wasn’t sure how a man with nearly 20 years of experience as a warrior could achieve. She removed her hand from him to back off a small amount but she kept her eyes trained as they were. 

         He paused for a moment before answering, as if weighing what it was he wanted to say. When he spoke, it was barely a breath. “I—no. I don’t.”

         “Okay,” Evelyn said with a soft but happy smile that reached her eyes, causing them to appear to dance in the soft candlelight that illuminated his office because the arrow slits weren’t meant for adequate natural lighting- especially when the sun was beginning to set and had dipped behind the large building of the fortress. 

         “There’s your answer, Cullen. Don’t take it. How much pain are you in?” 

         “I can endure the pain. I chose to quit taking lyrium knowing pain would be inevitable. It’s the lack of an ability to focus that has me concerned in my duties,” he admitted with a voice that was still quiet and he finally dropped her gaze, preferring to look to the bookcase to her left. 

         Evelyn scooted just a bit closer and rested her chin on his knee, blocking the view of the books. She needed him to see her face. She wanted him to be able to read her face so he could see the surety she felt that he was still fit to be their commander. 

         “I can’t force you to see yourself the way the rest of us see you, Cullen. What I can do, though, is tell you that I could take you out into the field with me this very minute and know that you would never let any harm come to me if you could do so without divine intervention,” she said beaming with the pride she felt for the man in front of her. 

         “If I can say that, then you can rest in knowing that I think that you are perfectly fine to continue in your current position and Cassandra has already affirmed my assessment.” Her smile was simple but bright, even in the dimly lit room. 

         His face was painted with incredulity, so she added, “I can’t make you see it but I certainly hope you can. Take the rest of the night off; it’s after dinner anyway. I’ll have Cook send a tray up to you since you missed dinner. Sleep on your decision and let me know tomorrow okay?”

         “Thank you, Inquisitor,” he said with a smile that lacked sincerity. His eyes were still frowning and he had gone back to being rigid. 

         She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead before standing up and walking to the door that opened to a suspended catwalk leading to the rotunda of the main building. Before she slipped out into the burnt orange hues of the mountain evening, she said, “you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. I still trust you with my life and I hope you stay.”

         On her way through the main keep, she grabbed a runner and gave them directions to have Cook send Cullen the food she promised him. Receiving a fist-over-heart salute in response, she continued on to her apartment. 

 

***

 

        Having found it difficult to sleep the night before, Evelyn sat at her desk pouring over the reports that had clustered there in stacked piles similar to what she had seen on Cullen’s desk the night before. 

        She had been plugging away at the leaflets of correspondence, adding a signature here, a response there, since three in the morning when she made the official decision that she was too on-edge to sleep and subsequently rolled herself out of the bed. 

        She had worked through the chirping of the pre-dawn birds, heralding the start of a new day. She extinguished the flames of her candles about an hour prior, when the sun had begun to pour in through the massive stained glass windows and balcony doors.

        She paused to take in her accomplishments of the last five or six hours. Bit by bit, the piles on the left side of her desk had begun to dwindle as they moved to stacks on the right, signaling their completion. 

        Peering through the gap between the stacks framing her desk, her attention shifted to her bed. Her night of restless tossing and turning that betrayed how worried she was about Cullen was no longer noticeable.

        Through the night she had moved so much that her blankets ended up in a ball in the middle of the bed. The evidence of her worry had long been dealt with though. She had made the bed as soon as she had dressed for the day. It stood with the corners meticulously folded and the throw pillows arranged in perfect order. 

        Aside from the cluster that was the top of her desk, she kept her room meticulously clean. Her bookshelves were all organized, without even a stray paper out of place. The mantle above her fireplace was kept mostly empty, save a few small totems she had found on her travels.

        The organization of her personal space that doubled as her office, with her desk nestled in the back corner between the two glass doors that opened to her balconies, was important to her. Not only did it make her look professional but it brought her a sense of comfort to know everything was in its rightful place.

         A loud knock at her apartment door startled her from her observations of her environment and she hollered out, “I’m at my desk. You’re more than welcome to come up.” There was no reason for someone to have knocked. She had opened her door directly after dressing for the day and setting her room to rights. 

         It was the ‘usual’ for her when she was in the fortress during business hours. She always wanted people to know she was available. If the door was open, anyone who had clearance to bypass the guards posted at the door to the upper levels in the main hall was welcome to enter without knocking. 

         Their footfalls on the stone staircase that led to her room would be enough notice that someone approached. The knock on her open door sent a surge of worry through her, chilling her veins. That breach of normalcy likely paved the way for bad news.

         By now, she recognized the sounds of her most frequent visitors as they ascended the stairs. The weighted but swiftly cadenced steps of a man with heavy boots reverberated through the stairwell, growing louder as the echoes compounded on one another. _Cullen_. 

         Her breath caught in her chest at the realization as to just who had knocked when her door was open and she knew there was no way he was bringing good news. Assuming it was something about Corypheus’ General, Samson, she tried to quash the negativity creeping in. 

         He wouldn’t quite look at her as he rounded the banister separating her floor from the drop off at the wall of the stairs and his evasiveness continued as he silently approached. “Commander, what can I do for you this morning,” she asked politely but edged with softness. 

         Evelyn’s disquiet escalated further as his lack of speech continued while handed her a tri-folded piece of parchment, sealed with a blood-red wax seal and his Commander insignia pushed solidly into it. 

         She took a deep breath in a futile attempt to steel herself as she prepared to open it. This was going to be bad. He turned and walked away, still without having uttered a single word but wearing an expression that bordered on pain. It made her wonder if the look had to do with what was contained in the letter or if he was still physically in pain from yesterday. 

         Slowly, agonizingly slowly it seemed even though he had moved rather swiftly, she heard the echo of his steps on the stairs recede completely as she frantically broke the seal with the spiked fist pressed into it and began to read. Her eyes grew wide as her suspicions were confirmed.

 

_ Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan, _

_The Inquisition and its military deserve the best Commander they can possibly follow. It is my duty to do what is best for the Inquisition’s forces while I am still of sound-enough mind to do so. Due to my struggles and my desire to stay off lyrium, as per our discussion yesterday in my office, I am no longer an asset to the Inquisition, but a liability. As such, I resign my commission as the Inquisition’s Commander._

  _I do not believe that Seeker Pentaghast ever offered a suggestion as to a replacement, as my one final act before I leave, I would ask that my second-in-command, Knight-Captain Rylen, be considered for the vacant position. The troops know him as well as they know me and will follow and respect him in the same manner._

_With the mages as allies and having acquired several bands of Templars, Knight-Captain Rylen’s promotion to the Commander position would do wonders to continue the good will you have cultivated between the two factions._  

_        My Commander signet ring is in the top left drawer of my desk. Please inform my replacement of where they can find it.  _

  _Respectfully,_

_ Cullen Rutherford, Commander  _

  

        Next to his signed name and title was a wax seal identical to that which had sealed the letter. She took off at a sprint, flying down the stairs as fast as she could without the threat of falling down and breaking her neck. 

        The distance from the very top of her keep to the front gate felt like it took an eternity but she skidded to a halt in front of one of the soldiers standing sentinel over the open portcullis that led out onto the bridge. “Where is he,” she demanded.

        “The Commander? He rode out a few minutes ago. He had his horse saddled, packed, and waiting for him. The only thing he said was that he needed to go to your office real fast and he would be right back. Is everything alright, Your Worship?” The man’s expression was one of befuddlement, but his stance had never broken from the expected parade rest. 

        “It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I- I have to go. Thank you, soldier.” She turned abruptly on her heel, not staying to see whether or not he saluted, though, she assumed he did. They always did. Cullen’s soldiers were nothing if not well-disciplined in both combat maneuvers and respect to superiors.

        She sprinted back up the flight of stairs to the upper courtyard, coming to a brief rest at the top of the stairs to send a soldier to collect Cassandra, before continuing up the second flight into the main hall. 

        Catching sight of Varric in his usual place near the fire on the right side of the large room, she beckoned, “Hey, Varric? Do me a favor, please? Have Solas send Leliana to the war room for me. I need her there ASAP.”

        Once again, she didn’t stop to catch his response. She didn’t need to. She could see from the concern on his face as she gave her request that he would be on it so fast Leliana would likely end up beating her to the room. 

        She walked swiftly through the hall, not enough to garner further gossip of mild interest from the visiting nobles that milled about uselessly but quickly enough to show she was on a mission and wasn’t to be stopped. Once through the door to her rooms, inclining her head swiftly at the guards posted there, she sprinted up several flights of stairs to grab the resignation letter sitting on her desk. 

        She promptly made her way back to the war room. When she blew through Josephine’s office, she noted Josephine’s absence. Ah, someone  _ had _ beaten her and informed Josephine that a meeting had been called. Good. Saved her from yet another stop, no matter how brief it would have been. 

        She sprinted through the long hall between Josie’s office and the war room, and threw the small door tucked into the oversized, floor-to-ceiling doors open with such force that it slammed against the wall on the inside of the room.

        Even Leliana startled at the cacophony of the clattering echo as the door rattled on its hinges after the initial crash of the door. She looked at Leliana first, receiving a confirming nod from their resident spymaster. 

        She and Cullen were close so the uncharacteristic sadness she found in her spymaster’s blue eyes was not a complete surprise. She handed the resignation to Cassandra first, because she, too, was close with their absent Commander of Forces. 

        “This- This will destroy him,” Cassandra muttered sadly in her thick Nevarran accent as she tendered the letter to Leliana, who perused it briefly before walking down the long side of the table where Cullen usually stood to hand it to Josephine. 

        “Not if we can bring him back, it won’t,” Evelyn said resolutely, looming over the war table with her fingers and thumb forming a right triangle with the large, solid table that held their map of Southern Thedas. “He is our guy. He is the best man for this position. Let’s get him home.”

        “You have a plan, Inquisitor,” prompted Leliana as Josephine prepped her quill for the flurry of notes she was about to compose. 

        “I do. Josephine, enough people saw the commotion earlier. Discreetly circulate a statement that he needed to take a personal leave. That will buy us some time. Leliana, get your most discrete scouts on his trail. Find him. Cassandra, prep Rylen for taking temporary command of troops. Inform him of where Cullen left his insignia ring.”

        Evelyn looked at each of them as she handed out their orders. Without another word spoken between any of them, they all somberly filed out of the room and set to their tasks. Evelyn went to her room to begin composing a letter to be sent to him should they find his location. 

        After several hours of failed attempts, she heard a much softer pair of men’s footfalls ascending her stairs. Dorian. 

        She looked up to see his perfectly styled hair and mustache come into view. She wiped at her tear-soaked lashes to attempt to hide her heartache. She had held it in by funneling it into anger-driven planning in the war room but here, in her personal space, there was no outlet on which to focus her hurt.

        “I concluded that something must be wrong when you skipped our wine and book date. I admit, I do not relish being correct in this case,” he said sadly as he hoisted up two bottles of a fine Antivan Red- probably filched from Josephine’s expensive stocks. 

        “Maker, if you aren’t a sight for very sore eyes, you beautiful man,” Evelyn said as she tried to erase all tints of her despair. Her lackluster attempt at nonchalance contorted Dorian’s face into one of confused pity.

        “My dear lady, whatever is causing this,” he asked tenderly with a gesture of his hand to indicate her salt water-covered cheeks and puffy, bloodshot eyes. 

        “Cullen resigned and left. He’s gone, Dorian,” she replied as her resolve shattered with a choked sob. 

        Dorian pushed her fainting sofa in front of the fireplace, crackling with the warmth of the blaze it contained, and pulled a small table over to sit beside the couch. He then walked over to where she sat sniveling with her head down on the desk, cushioned by her crossed arms. 

        He gently picked her up and moved her to the couch in front of the fire and poured her a glass of wine before sitting down beside her and pulled her into his lap, tucking her head under his chin. 

        He sat with her for long hours until she finally cried herself to exhaustion and fell asleep. The sun had passed below the horizon hours earlier so he picked her up and tucked her into bed before climbing in next to her so she wouldn’t be alone if she should wake during the night for any reason. 

  

***

 

        After a tense week of waiting and dealing with Mother Giselle’s invasive drama regarding Dorian and her being in contact with his family, Leliana approached Evelyn to inform her that Cullen had been located. 

        He had claimed a small plot of land just outside of the still-Blight ravaged lands that used to be his hometown of Honnleath. Near the banks of a tiny hot-spring warmed lake, he had begun construction on a small cabin. 

        Evelyn, who had been preparing to travel with Dorian, Bull, and Varric to handle dealings in the Redcliffe vicinity, sprinted up to her room to quickly pen a letter to the former commander. 

 

_ Commander Cullen Rutherford, _

_I hope this letter finds you in much better health than when we spoke in your office several weeks ago. As Inquisitor, leader of the Inquisition, it is my duty to inform you of two key items._

_First, I did not wish to go against your wishes. We did put Knight-Captain Rylen in temporary command under the assertion that you needed to take a personal leave of absence. I still firmly believe that you are the Commander we need. Rylen has done a terrific job in your stead; however, you were the perfect person for the position._

_The second is that I have not fully accepted your resignation, as I am sure you inferred from my wording in the above paragraph. I thought it best to give you time to do whatever it was you felt you needed to do to clear your head. The position of Commander is still yours. All you need do is say the word._

_Skyhold is still a place you can call home. No-one but Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine, and myself know of the true nature of your departure. If you can find it within you, Cullen, come back. Dorian and I have business in Redcliffe and there is a Ferelden Frostback in that area that we must dispose of while there. If you would like to meet with me while I am nearby, we will be staying at the Forward Camp near the Crossroads. You know where I will be._

_ Best regards, _

_ Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan _

 

        She ran as fast as she could to Leliana’s rookery, only slowing to a dignified speed-walk as she made her way through the main hall for propriety’s sake. She sent the letter off on one of Leliana’s fastest ravens and gave Leliana an order to report to her as quickly as possible, should he return or at least write back and promising she would do the same if he showed in Redcliffe or at camp. 

        A small glimmer of hope returned to Evelyn as she mounted her creamy cremello Free Marches Ranger and set off with her companions. They had to meet with Dorian’s father’s retainer in Redcliffe and they had a Ferelden Frostback dragon to put down before she killed a person instead of carrying away livestock.

  

*** 

 

        Much to Dorian’s irritation, his father’s “retainer” was actually his father in person. The two men had a falling out years before and they argued before Evelyn convinced Dorian to give his father a chance to make his amends. 

        The Ferelden Frostback had been a hard-fought battle. That bitch simply hadn’t wanted to go down. They had gone through an exhaustive battle over the rocky expanse of the Lady Shayna’s Valley area of the Hinterlands before pinning her on the top of a large hill. 

        While on the hill, Evelyn had failed to get out of the way of one of the dragon’s back feet fast enough as the dragon flailed and writhed as the life left her body. The resulting injury was enough to land her in critical condition. 

        Her femoral artery had been severed in an ugly compound fracture. Bull had pulled off his belt and used it as a tourniquet to slow the bleeding while he corrected the break and Dorian could begin to heal her. 

        She had drifted in and out of consciousness as her companions poured several regeneration potions and another few healing potions down her throat, while Dorian had worked on stabilizing her enough for transportation. All three companions were mighty thankful that Evelyn had insisted on killing all the dragonlings in the valley leading to Lady Shayna’s on their way to the dragon’s lair. Had she not, they would have been in a world of hurt trying to cart her through the area. 

        They made it back to the Crossroads, where the local healer they had sent from Redcliffe on one of their last trips to the Hinterlands, finished stabilizing her enough that she was at least safe to be hauled back to Skyhold on a wagon without risk of infection or death. 

        Upon entry to the keep, Leliana had informed her that they had heard no response from Cullen but that, despite her scouts’ best efforts to stay hidden, he had found them and sent them back to Skyhold. They had returned the day before. 

        At the return of her agents, she sent a raven to him with word of the Inquisitor’s injury. If nothing else, it had been obvious that he had cared for her before he left. She doubted he’d forgive her if Evelyn had been that seriously injured and he hadn’t been informed. But still, there had been no reply when the raven returned.

        Nine days after their return to Skyhold, as Evelyn sat in bed in her apartment-office for recovery, Dorian made his way gracefully up the stairs. Once again, he carried with him a bottle of wine. This time it was Evelyn’s favorite white. 

        He sat it down on her nightstand and she patted the bed next to her. He sat down and scooted himself up to join her propped up against the headboard in a sea of pillows. After putting his arm around her shoulders and her resting her head on the shoulder of his that wasn’t covered by his leather outfit, he placed a sad kiss to the top of her head. 

        He took a deep breath in that Evelyn echoed shakily. “Have you heard from him at all since he left,” Dorian asked tentatively.

        She let out a humorless chuckle before responding, “No. Not at all.”

        Dorian brushed her bangs out of her eyes and softly assured her, “this wasn’t your fault you know. I promise.”

        “It sure feels like it,” she replied with a pitiful sniffle. “I could have said something different or trusted my instincts that told me what that letter was before I read it. I could have-”

        Dorian cut her off by pressing his index finger to her lips. “Shhh,” he pleaded softly. “No, sweetheart. No. If he was packed and ready to go before he even came to see you, his mind had already been made up. His mind had probably been made up when he spoke with Cassandra. That meeting was likely nothing more than a formality for him. It wasn’t your fault.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey darling reader,
> 
> Thank you for sticking it out with this sadness. Feel free to let me know your thoughts, even if it is to yell at me for making Cullen leave. I won't mind. I promise. I made myself sad writing it. Love and hugs. 
> 
> Becca


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